Imperfectus ad Perfectum
by Inks Inc
Summary: Take one exasperating Neal Caffrey. Add in one exasperated Peter Burke. Sit back as anarchy unfolds. Warning: Spanking
1. Chapter 1

Beads of exasperated perspiration were popping from Peter's temples at an alarming pace. Diana looked simply amused but Jones knew better than to have any emotion splashed across his face at all and remained silent. Neal stared around at them all with frustration in his heart. They were good people, and damned fine agents but… good Lord they were conservative people. They could catch their latest prey in his own web of deceit if they just used a little ingenuity. But of course, Peter was having none of it and Diana and Jones never challenged anything he decreed. Neal huffed an angry breath as Peter opened his mouth to shoot him down once more. He could practically tell what the man was going to say, word for word, and he was right.

"Neal. The answer is no. It's too risky, too pricey. We do this-"

"By the book?"

Peter's eyes narrowed at the thinly veiled insolence, but nodded nonetheless. "Yeah, we do this by the book. That's why we have the book, so we can do things by it. It's really a very clever system." He turned back to the file on his desk that they were all stood around and frowned in concentration. "Diana, I think that the undercover operation you proposed has some merit and…" he trailed off, rubbing his temples in ire at the explosive noise of discontent that burst unchecked, from Neal. "You disagree?" he challenged, and any person who wasn't Neal Caffrey would have shaken their heads so fast they'd see stars. Neal however, nodded without hesitation.

"I do. Sending Diana in undercover isn't going to work. He's going to spot her as a plant a mile off."

It was Diana's turn to snort in indignation.

"Excuse me Caffrey, but some of us are actually trained in this field and-"

"Enough," Peter ordered sharply, more sharply than he intended such was his state of tiredness and he flashed an apologetic look at an even madder looking Diana. "That's enough," he added more softly again, "Diana, you are going to go in undercover as you suggested. I think tomorrow night is the best option. I know he's there tonight and for the next two days so we'll give ourselves tonight to get the story set and rehearsed. Jones and I will be your primary back up and Neal-"

"I'll be in the van making no noise and pretending I don't exist?"

Peter threw his eyes up to heaven.

"You're a little old to be playing an aggrieved Harry Potter, don't you think?"

Neal stared at him with an odd watery fire burning in his blue eyes and didn't deign to answer.

"But yes," Peter continued, "You'll be our point of contact in the van. We need someone to have eyes on Diana at all times and feed us that info to our stations." He turned back to Diana. "So, what we need you to do above all else is to isolate him. He never goes anywhere alone so that is going to be a challenge. His two body guards are also his cousins, so he doesn't trust outsiders. You're going to have to influence-"

"She could put him under the influence of class A narcotics and this plan still wouldn't work."

It was only El's extreme fondness for Neal at that moment that kept him alive. Even Jones and Diana exchanged subtle looks of surprise. Caffrey often pushed Peter to the limit, but he wasn't often just flat out insolent because he didn't agree with something. There was something off about his stance as well, now that they really looked at him. It was rigid and it was clear that he was pissed. Not in his usual way, but in a real, meaningful way. Before Peter could answer, Neal's fed up and angry voice washed over them all once more.

"Have you people never considered the logic of the phrase _to catch a thief, you send a thief?_ You might be the _agents_ here but you're messing in a world you, forgive me, quite frankly do not understand. The only way you're going to isolate him is to charm him, and the only charm that man will understand is the allure of a big pay day. Not that he cares about the money, but he certainly cares about his reputation. You need to give him bait and play the line. Not cobble together some ham fisted undercover operation to try and seduce a confession out of him. You're trying to play his ego, but you're going about it the wrong way. His standing in the underworld is everything to this guy, it's everything and you're completely ignoring it."

Three sets of eyes blinked at his lengthy outburst in a range of mild to extreme confusion.

Peter recovered first.

"Neal, I hear you. I do. But I do not have that kind of budget or that kind of time. I need this wrapped up in a week, not in a couple of months with a red line through my costings for the quarter. The guy's an ego-maniac, I know that. But I can't accommodate it in the way you want me to, if the resources were there…then maybe. But they're not and we've got to work with what we've got. So I need you to get on board with us here, alright?"

Neal stared.

"I could get us the financing we need. With minimum risk."

Peter's lunch trundled in his stomach in protest as he whipped his head back and forth. "Absolutely not. Under no circumstances," he rejected flatly, "You are not going to get any financing, you're just going to get on the same page for this operation and that's the end of the matter." With one warning look, he glanced down at the file on his desk once more but his stomach was beginning to pique with that gut instinct that something was off with his maddening protégé. Neal was too vehement about this whole case for it to be just a difference of opinion. He'd been resistant at every turn, fighting Peter tooth and nail about the direction he was taking with the case.

He glanced up from the file and saw to his alarm that the kid was wearing that far away expression.

The "trouble" expression as Peter had dubbed it.

The migraine that he'd been keeping at bay suddenly spilled past his barriers as Neal stared off over the heads of the quietly conversing Jones and Diana, his mind clearly far away from the glass panelled office of the FBI White Collar division. Reaching for his pain killers, Peter popped two with abandon and glugged down a dollop of water as his gut screamed at him to intervene in whatever it was that was going to require intervention. He reached up and rubbed his temples as a sudden bright light shone in the kid's eyes and he very subtly flashed a smile of self-satisfaction.

Peter felt his heart sink.

…

A/N: I've had a few PM's requesting another Multi-Chapter White Collar fic so here we are! I always say when I finish one that I won't write WC again because sometimes I feel I'm missing the Peter/Neal dynamic, but the show always calls me back so here we go again.

_Inks

…..


	2. Chapter 2

Feeling, rather than seeing Peter's discerning gaze upon him, Neal quickly slipped from his satisfied expression and changed into something more appropriate. Carefully constructed lines of exasperated resignation crossed his face as he forced himself to appear reluctantly involved with the low conversing of Jones and Diana. He carefully but carelessly avoided Peter's gaze as he offered his two cents here and there and he eventually felt the keen eyes drop away from and back into the all important file. He mentally kicked himself. He was getting sloppier the more and more time he spent in the company of the lawman. He was going to get that finance and he needed to do it in a way that no one ever knew it had been done. That wasn't going to happen if he was smiling smugly here, there and everywhere. He would be more careful. Much more careful.

They needed this. He knew Peter was catching continual heat about his vehement protection of his deal and he always felt the need to repay that consistent loyalty. He logically knew that Peter didn't want repayment, but the illogical part of him…the self sufficient part, felt that continuing need to prove himself worth it as keenly as ever before. If he could just get the financing they needed, the pull of their latest prey would be worth so much more than Peter was bargaining for. Diego may fancy himself a player in a world he barely grasped the core of, but he'd sing like a prize cockatoo to save himself if the need arose. He was a medium fish but he knew a lot of big, big aquatic players. The kind of collars that would elevate Peter's creds to the dizziest heights of the bureau.

And come hell or high water, Neal was going to make that happen.

For Peter.

Clearing his throat, the team-lead ran over the plan one more time before dismissing them all with the order to get a good night's sleep. As he crossed one foot over the threshold of the door, just behind Diana, Neal sighed internally when he was called back. Closing the door on freedom, he flashed a winning smile and threw himself in the chair in front of Peter's desk and oozed innocence. "Something I can do for you? Perhaps some herbal tea?" Ignoring the pretence and staring steadily for a moment, Peter leaned back and crossed his arms firmly across his chest. It was clearly intervention time.

"What are you planning?"

Neal blinked in the most angelic of innocence.

"Planning?"

Peter nodded stiffly.

"Planning."

Silence danced for a moment as Neal thought at his usual lightning speed. Flat out denial? No, too risky. Outraged indignation? No, too transparent. Confusion? Might work. He tilted his head and puckered his brow in misunderstanding. "I don't follow? I thought we were planning the undercover operation? Just now, here, a moment ago. You heard my input. I think Diana will do best to appear as if she were new in town and fragile, but how she plays it is up to her really. Why, are you planning something different?"

Peter threw his eyes up to heaven.

"Cut the crap, Neal. You're up to something, I know it. You know that I know it. So why don't you just save us all the aggravation and tell me whatever it is you were _thinking_ of doing. Please note the past tense context here, because whatever was going through that head of yours had better be a passing flutter. Because I am warning you here and now, there is to be no…no _peculiar happenings_ on this case. No Mozzie, no nothing. Understand?"

Neal chewed his lip.

"Did you intend that double negative just there? Because two different meanings can be construed-"

"Caffrey!"

"Please, Peter…relax. I'm not planning anything; the skies aren't going to fall. I'm going to go against my better judgement and do things the way you want them done. Ok?" Technically, he wasn't lying. He was going to go and do things the way Peter wanted them done; he was just going to throw in a few extra details here and there. And technically, he wasn't planning anything. He was only beginning to begin to plan which didn't count as planning at all. Not really. Not…much. Not very much at all. He focussed on keeping his face perfectly neutral and his eyes wide and innocent. Peter scrutinised every conceivable inch of him as they both sat in silence for a long moment.

"Alright Neal, I'll take your word for it." He paused as the guilt lapped at him. Why did he always have to rush to judgement on the kid? He never gave him the benefit of the doubt, always warning him about this and that. El had been on his case about it. She was worried Neal would get the impression that he wasn't trusted and that it would set him back. He cleared his throat as the wide, clear eyes stared back at him. Standing, he crossed the desk and leaned on Neal's side of it, their knees nearly touching. He sucked in a deep breath and looked down at the slightly alarmed looking young man.

"Sorry buddy," he said softly, adopting the "home" Peter voice as Neal had dubbed it. "I shouldn't be so quick to accuse you of plotting behind my back when you've been making such great progress. Guess you're not the only one who needs to change your old ways." He smiled warmly and reaching out, gave Neal's shoulder a tight squeeze. "You say you're not planning anything, so I believe you. This is me, backing off your case. You've earned a lot of trust and it's about time I started paying it out. I'm going to try and get better at doing that kid. Just you watch."

Neal felt his lungs quiver under the weight of keeping him at a normal respiratory rate.

With one last trusting smile and muttered apology, Peter stood and indicated to the door.

"You can go now, Neal. Make sure you get plenty of rest, we've a big day ahead of us tomorrow."

Standing slowly, the younger of the two managed a borderline convincing smile before slowly making it to the door. Just when he thought the whole saga couldn't get any worse, he didn't even make it out of the office before Peter's voice rang out again. His back stiffened involuntarily at the words but he managed not to jerk in an obvious capacity. He stood frozen as Peter's voice rang in his ears and as he tried to figure out how to walk from the room. He managed somehow, to turn and smile wanly at the man before walking as fast as he could to safety. With every step he took he heard Peter's parting remarks over and over and over again.

"I'm proud of you, Neal. You're really coming along. I should tell you that more often."

…..

A/N: TBC

…..


	3. Chapter 3

Neal had to work harder than ever before to get the smile to his lips and keep it there. He wanted to vomit, to hurl up the entire contents of his stomach on the carpeted floor. But he didn't, because he was Neal Caffrey and he could always control the situation. Instead of upending his breakfast, he merely nodded graciously and swept from the room, his mind whirring. For the first time in very, very long time, he was doubting himself. Really doubting himself. Would it be the worst thing in the world to just go through with the case in the way Peter wanted? Did he agree with it? No. But Peter was always drumming into him that he couldn't have things his own way all the time. That would be something most people his age would have down pat, but he wasn't like most people his age. He'd spent his entire life in a boundary devoid state of; if you want it, take it. The concept of "no" was something he had serious issues with and something that Peter had serious issues with enforcing.

He sat down at his desk and chewed his lip, thinking deeply.

He knew a part of him was always trying to prove himself. He had a very carefully cultivated mask but his presence in Peter's life was his biggest insecurity. He was always waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under him and an orange jumpsuit thrust at him. On his darkest days, he felt like nothing more than a tool in Peter's belt, an asset to be used and abused. On those days he was his most reckless, his most desperate to crack the biggest case, bring down the most corrupt criminal, to prove to Peter he needed him. That he could be worthwhile. Today was one of those days. Somehow, someway…being shot down in the Conference Room wasn't a simple disagreement in approach. It was Peter putting him in his place, reminding him that he was merely the help. The hired help that could be dismissed with a stroke of a pen.

But on his good days, he knew what he was to Peter. But today wasn't a good day.

The decision was made before he even slipped the cell from his pocket. Turning his back to the glass panelled office that lay above, he thought rapidly. He spoke quietly, keeping his lips behind the cuff of his shirt. There were a lot of ears in the bull pen and it never paid to be careless. The entire conversation lasted all of two minutes but by the time he rang off, he had secured a deal. It was a deal that would cost him dearly, but it was a deal nonetheless. He had the money, now it was all about putting it to the best use possible and showing Peter that there was no way he could maintain the high arrest rates he was famous for without him. It being a bad day, it didn't occur to him that Peter didn't want any such proof, didn't need any such proof. It didn't strike him that Peter cared more for him personally than he did professionally. If he had been stricken with that thought, his day would have ended so very different. But it didn't.

Because it was one of the bad days.

He did his time and played his part well for the rest of the day, smiling and answering glibly where required. He saw Peter staring at him intently now and then, when he thought he wasn't looking, and he put serious effort into exuding relaxed nonchalance until he looked away, seemingly satisfied. The effort it took to maintain the mask was exhausting, but somehow, he managed it and when six o'clock came he was more than ready to make hasty tracks. Watching him go with hot guilt was Peter. Neal had bent over backwards to put the plan together even though it was a plan he didn't agree with, and he hadn't complained once about it. Sighing, he stood up wearily and threw his bits and pieces together. El would kill him if he was late for dinner again this week. An hour later and he made it as far as his car, still in a state of self flagellation before a sudden thought struck him like an acid attack.

 _Neal had bent over backwards to put the plan together even though it was a plan he didn't agree with, and he hadn't complained once about it…._

Screeching the car into gear with his customary "damnit Neal" spitting out under his breath, Peter pulled Neal's tracking data and saw he was already at home. Either that was a false read or he wasn't there alone. Something in Peter's gut was sure of it and as he sped through the wet streets, his earlier anger at himself for jumping to conclusions was all but evaporated. The kid was up to something and he was stupid to have expected anything else. Disappointed ire spread throughout him as he drove, hoping moronically that he was wrong and being fully prepared to beat himself up if he was. But he wasn't and he damned well knew it. Parking outside Neal's acquired manor, he let himself in and was rapping smartly at the loft door in a timeframe that belied his middle age. Trying the handle after one point five seconds of waiting, his brow puckered in irritation when it was locked.

Neal's door was never locked.

"Caffrey!" he bellowed, "Open this damned door this minute or I'm kicking it down!"

No response.

Breathing deeply, Peter thought better of causing criminal damage and settled for breaking and entering. Neal wasn't the only one who could pick a lock. Nimbly dealing with the simple barrel, he slipped his kit back into his pocket as the door swung open. The scene that greeted him was immediately suspicious. Most glaring of all was the fact that the empty chair standing askew from the table showed, according to Neal's tracking data, that he was sitting in it. No amount of wishful blinking or thinking was going to put the kid's butt in said chair and Peter soon dispensed with it as the all too familiar fear began to encase him. Striding over to the chair, he saw the blinking green light flash happily up at him from the anklet hugging the wooden leg. Closing his eyes and cursing fluently under his breath, Peter tried to remain calm.

Catching Neal is what he did, and what he did best.

As he slammed his way out of the apartment, with Mozzie's number ringing in his ears, he didn't know that at that very moment in time, Neal would have taken being caught red handed over the situation he was in. As he was backed into a physical corner, the suave con-man was finding it inordinately difficult to play the chess game of getting out of his mental corner. Flashing his brilliant confidence-man smile, he saw instantly in the advancing pale blue eyes that it wasn't washing. Gauged immediately that he had been set up, trapped. That there would be no pay day to help with the case, that he _was_ the pay day. That he had been sold out to the highest bidder because in his eagerness to get the ball rolling and get the game plan together in time, he'd been sloppy. Reckless. And it had come home to roost. Gulping deeply, he felt a ripple of fear run through him, though it didn't show. He was Neal Caffrey after all. But Neal Caffrey or not, the only thought running through his head was about as far from an original Neal idea as it was possible to get.

 _Peter….please be looking for me. Please have seen through me…_

…..

TBC

…..


	4. Chapter 4

He breathed deeply. So much so, that his brain flooded and dizziness washed over him. Leaning against the nearest lamppost he steadied himself. He wasn't far away. He couldn't quite place where his bodily irregularities were coming from. He wasn't hurt; he wasn't physically harmed at all. But his ego…that was suffering and it was suffering hard. It had been a long time since he had been so incredibly stupid and it had been an even longer time since he'd so narrowly escaped the consequences. Glancing up and around, he calmed somewhat at the familiar surroundings and busy, bustling streets. The sounds of his own voice filled his head, his empty promises that he knew he couldn't keep, and that would have dire consequences when reneged. He needed help and he knew exactly who the only person who could help him was. His stomach rumbled unpleasantly and a cool sweat broke out on his brow. But, he stiffened his shoulders and set off again, knowing from experience that to delay things always made them worse, eventually.

Fifteen minutes later, he was tapping softly at the familiar door.

Brushing her flour clad hands on her apron; El opened the door with a smile. "Oh Neal, hey sweetie. You're just the man I need. I need your input on this buffet I'm putting together and-" For the first time since she had met him, Neal was rude. "Not right now. El, Is Peter here? I need to see him. Right now." Blinking and instantly becoming alarmed by the tone, she shook her head. "No. He didn't come home yet. Which, now I think about it, is odd. He should have been here a few hours ago but he never showed, I assumed he was somewhere with you." Concern blazed in her eyes. "Is he ok? Is something going on? Neal, you tell me right now if there's something going on with my husband." A kindling of understanding sparked in the visitor. Peter knew. Peter was out there somewhere looking for him. Regret and fear bubbled in his stomach. Walking into the house and slumping on the sofa, he groaned into his hands.

"Nothing's going on with him, El. He's probably out looking for me…to kill me."

Leaving the door wide open in relief, she exhaled. Whilst she was far from happy that her husband was out on a wild goose chase as the goose was perched on their sofa, he was at least unharmed and safe. As always, the sight of Neal in distress stirred something in her and she sat gently down at his side, rubbing a hand through his hair. "What did you do now, Neal? You may as well fill me in now because we both know Peter is probably going to be loud enough when he gets home for me to hear." Whimpering into his hands at the truth of that statement, Neal dragged his head up and looked at her like a puppy at the shelter. "I messed up, El. I slipped my anklet because I wanted to do something to help a case that Peter forbade me to do. Only, I was careless and I was set up. I managed to get out of an unpleasant situation but the promises I made are ones I can't fulfil, and that's not good…for my health."

El grimaced and let out a billowing sigh.

"Neal! Why do you do these things, time and time again? How many times have you sat on this exact sofa as Peter chews you out? Do you ever listen, huh? Does anything he or I say get through to you, anything at all?" Dropping his head once more and feeling about one foot tall, Neal squirmed uncomfortably. "I'm sorry. El, I'm really sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing but I was an idiot and now, Peter is out looking for me and I'm here and the whole thing is just one big mess." She stared at his pale face and slumped shoulders and as usual, she relented. Peter was the one who could stay stern and lecture that adorable little face. She, on the other hand, was utterly ill equipped to do so. "Alright, alright. Let's get something hot in you and I'll call Peter so he's not driving around aimlessly. That'll just make him even madder and-"

"I could not _be_ any madder with him. Not by a long shot."

Neal and El twisted their necks around as if they possessed no muscles between the two of them. Neal paled and El placed a protective arm around his shoulders. "Now hon, I think you need some time to cool off before you talk to Neal. He needs something to eat and drink anyway and so do you. So, why don't you go on and freshen up and I'll fix you both some dinner. How does that sound?" Shrugging out of his suit jacket, Peter shook his head firmly. "Thanks hon, but he and I can have dinner later. I met Amy from across the street on the way in. She says you two are supposed to have a catch up after her holidays and she's free now, if you are. I think that would be nice for you and it would give Neal and I a chance to…talk." She heard the gentle note under his tone and knew he was asking her to trust him. Feeling torn, but knowing he would never hurt or go too far with Neal, she nodded. Squeezing the pale informant's shoulder, she strode past her husband with a peck to the cheek and a whisper in his ear. "An hour or so tops. Then I want to fuss over him. Is that clear?"

He nodded his agreement and shut the door gently after her.

Neal gulped as he strode to stand in front of him, his arms crossing across his shirt clad chest. "I am going to give you one opportunity to tell me everything. If you blow it, then we're going to have serious problems because I am _sick_ to the back _teeth_ of this Neal. I've had it up to here with your run arounds and your disobedience. So, one opportunity, take it. Now." Knowing that he was far from bluffing, the young man swallowed the knot of fear in his throat and nodded. Speaking lowly but quickly and without an agenda, he told Peter everything. The meeting, the way it had all gone so wrong. The assurances he'd had to make to escape, the blow back he could expect when he didn't deliver. He told him everything. To his credit, Agent Burke bit back every outburst that sprung to his lips and let the kid confess all, without interruption. Quiet flowed between them after he had heard the full story, thought lines creasing his brow.

"I will deal with the repercussions of your false promises. There won't be any, I promise."

Neal nodded guiltily and gratefully, knowing that he would made good. Staring down at his protégé, Peter felt the all too familiar exasperation burst within him. "Why the hell do you still pull this crap, Neal? What do I have to do to get through to you? Every time, every _single_ time I think I'm finally getting somewhere with you, you go and do something like this. Do you have any idea how dangerous what you did is? Do you? You walked right into that group of Neanderthals without a second's thought putting your neck on the line. You slipped your anklet, which we will come back to, and put your deal on the line. What the hell is the matter with you? What goes on inside your head? I try to understand, I really do, but I just can't. I can't understand how somebody like you makes the choices you do. You could be anything or anyone and yet you continually go back to lying, cheating and breaking the rules. I am fed up with it. Do you hear me? I am fed _up_ with it."

Neal flinched and looked intently down at his hands.

"Look at me when I am speaking to you," Peter barked. "I am through with talking to myself. Now, I know what you did but I don't know why. I want to know why, so you are going to tell me why and you are going to do it now. I don't want to be insulted with clever word play and half truths." He scrubbed a hand across his face and softened his tone, but only somewhat. ""Damnit Neal, you are so much better than this. You have so much more potential than this. Tell me what made you go off the reservation again. Not because I'm your handler and because you're my CI. But because I'm me and you're you. And because you're my…" he reddened, but persevered. "You're my family now, Neal. And I can't stand by and watch you continually sabotage yourself and not understating _why."_

If Neal felt bad before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now.

Guilt surged, hot and strong through his veins as he shifted uncomfortably. Usually, this was when he would carefully direct Peter away from his line of questioning. But he couldn't, not now. The truth had been eating at him for a long time and maybe it was time to clue someone else in. "Sometimes…I worry that you're going to wake up one day and realise that I'm more trouble than I'm worth. Then it'll be back to an orange jumpsuit and cold showers. Then, once that's over, it'll be back out on the streets to…nothing. No family, one friend. I guess I'm always waiting for the hammer to fall. I thought that by making myself useful, indispensible even, you wouldn't wake up that morning and think I was too much of a burden. That's why I met those guys. I thought if you could be reminded what I can bring to the table, to the case, that you would be less likely to have that morning moment and get yourself a CI that does as they're told and doesn't make your hands twitch with the urge to strangle them."

Peter stared.

"Is that what you think?" he said quietly, shock and guilt bubbling within him. "That I'm just using you for your skills and that if those skills are outweighed by the headaches you cause me, I'll just can you?" Neal dropped his gaze again, unrebuked, and nodded. "Sometimes," he mumbled, "Yeah." Shame swept over Peter in that moment as he stared at the sad frame of what was usually a chipper as all hell kid. He chewed his lip. Somehow, his glib comments and threats about sending the boy back to jail were not so glib anymore. Somehow, his insistences that Neal be on the case twenty-four seven until it was solved, seemed cruel. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. When he opened them again, he saw the worry shining in Neal's eyes and acted on impulse. Fixing him with the now trademark finger point, he cleared his throat. "Come here." He pointed to the spot on the floor directly in front of him. "Come right here."

Neal died a little inside when he realised that his stint on death row was over. It was execution time.

Standing slowly, he shuffled over to the gallows with a nervous sheen of sweat on his face. Reaching the designated point, he waited with anxiety as if expecting to be seized and uncerimonously dealt with, even though Peter never did that. There was silence for a moment as each man regarded each other. Then Neal felt surprise coat him as a gentle hand was rested on each shoulder and Peter's suddenly soft voice filled the room. "Bud. I may be an insensitive jerk at times, or so El says. But those stupid comments about sending you back to prison and orange jumpsuits? That's all they are. Stupid comments from an old man who sometimes opens his mouth before he gives his brain a chance." He squeezed the shoulders under his hands carefully. "Neal, I will never send you back without a fight. Never. As far as I'm concerned, prison is in the past for you. Unless you kill someone, I'm pretty much going to be keeping you around for as long as you want to be kept." He stared seriously at the shocked young man. "I mean it buddy. You are not some asset to be used until you can be used no more. You're my friend and my family and I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe, even from yourself."

He moved away then, giving Neal some space.

"Do you understand what I'm saying son?"

A dam of relief was bursting slowly within the brilliant blue eyes as a head was slowly nodded. Neal was a con's con and he knew how to lie and knew when he was being lied to. He wasn't being lied to here, far from it. Peter wasn't a particularly loquacious or emotionally in-tune man, but he was an honest man and he was telling an honest man's truth. "I understand," he said quietly, his voice laden with raw emotion. "I believe you, Peter. I do." A broad smile crossed the elder mans' face as he saw a mirrored truth in Neal's eyes. He reached out before he could stop himself and ruffled the usually pristine hair, which elicited the scowl he knew it would. "Hands off," Neal grumbled, flattening out his locks, "The oil on your hands will make it greasy!"

Peter rolled his eyes.

"And the two tonne bottle of lotion that's in it won't?"

Neal shot him a baleful look but otherwise seemed to radiate a silent contentment.

His stomach suddenly rumbled.

"So, I guess we'll have that dinner El was talking about right now?"

Peter stared and raised a brow, a sternness seeping back to his features, and shook his head."

"Nice try buddy, but my guess? My guess is that you're about to get your butt well and truly spanked right now."

Neal dropped his head with a miserable groan.

"It was worth a try."

…..

TBC

….


	5. Chapter 5

"It's your trying behaviour that gets you into these messes in the first place, Neal. So if I were you I would do a little less _trying_ and a little more _behaving._ I am sick to the back teeth of having these conversations with you. You're smart as hell, but sometimes I question the intelligence of someone who repeats the same mistakes over and over again." Peter moved forwards and despite himself, placed a warm hand on the crushed looking kid's shoulder. "That might sound harsh, bud, and maybe it is. But I have to get through to you _somehow._ Anything could have happened to you on this foolhardy jaunt of yours. Not to mention the fact that you've managed to slip your anklet yet again. How long do you think I can keep Hughes off your back? Because I'll tell you something for nothing, he's getting a little heavy being on mine all the damned time. This is not only your second chance, it is your last chance. I cannot beat the federal government, Neal, and if anyone else other than me knew about the fact your table is wearing your anklet, you'd be done for. And maybe you don't know or don't care, but so would I."

If Neal was feeling bad before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now.

"Peter," he blanched. "Of course I care. Of course I do. I would never forgive myself if your career suffered because of me. Well, if it suffered more because of me. I wasn't thinking about that when-"

"Strikes me as that you weren't thinking at all, Neal."

There was no arguing with that, so the young man didn't even bother trying. Shuffling miserably where he stood, regret flooded through him. He'd thought he could help. But really, he was just insecure. No matter what Peter did or said, he was always waiting for the man to cut and run, deciding that he was just much bother to be getting on with. The thick woven carpet seemed to sigh up at him as he stared resolutely upon it, anything rather than looking Peter in the eye when he was so fed up with him. A weariness overtook him as he stood as still as a statue. Keeping up appearances was exhausting. He was exhausted.

"Neal? Do you hear me?"

Blinking, the younger man looked up and it was clear that he had in fact, not heard him. Biting back a sigh of irritation, Peter rubbed his tired eyes and breathed deeply. "Neal. Stay with me here buddy. I need you to really understand this, because I am not going to say it again." Two hands suddenly seized the slim shoulders, warm but with an overtone of restraint. "You do not have to keep proving yourself to me. You do not have to try and impress me on a daily basis. You do not always have to be the best and the brightest on every case. We are team. It is a team effort and you are not some resource to be signed out and signed back in. You are part of this team and it is not your job or your obligation to carry it. You could catch one low life or a hundred, and you're still just going to be Neal to me. I don't buy the Caffrey con, buddy. Stop peddling it. I get that you're always going to shine some of that con outside these walls, but in here, you're just Neal. And at work and in the field, you're a part of the White Collar division. That means you toe the same line as everyone else and work together, like everyone else. This isn't a solo sport, it takes a bit of you, me and everyone else to get the job done."

He took a staggeringly deep breath, surprised by the depth of his own speech.

"Am I making any sense to you whatsoever right now?"

With impossibly widened blue eyes, Neal nodded.

"Yeah…Peter, you actually are making all the sense in the world to me right now…"

The older man closed his eyes in sheer relief, the thoughts of having to explain himself in some different way simply too much to countenance. "Good," he muttered, "Cos the time El gave me to deal with you is running out and you aren't getting out of a well-tanned behind by me yakking away."

Neal suddenly seemed riddled with confusion.

"Actually, Peter, could I just draw your attention to one point that I'm having some difficulty with. When you say that I-"

"Don't even try it. Don't you even think about it."

Suddenly turning stern and steeling himself, Peter plopped himself down in the all too familiar armless chair that had been the menacing backdrop to their entire heart-to-heart. Uncuffing his right sleeve and rolling the material right up to his elbow, ignoring with difficulty Neal's muted whimper of misery, he pointed to his right-hand side and spoke quietly. "Come here. It's time to deal with this. I promise you, you won't be pulling a stunt like this for quite a while after I'm finished with you."

Knowing that resistance was futile, Neal bit his lip and did as he was bade.

"Drop the pants."

Crushing misery lanced through the artist. This was a rare, but not unprecedented occurrence. Generally speaking, Peter always allowed him the benefit of some protection during the beginnings of any correction. It was only when he pushed the man too far that he withdrew that bizarre privilege of sorts. With unusually fumbling hands, Neal reached up and undid his belt buckle and pants button, letting the expensive ensemble fall to his knees in misery. With no further ado, Peter reached out and laid the kid over his knee with ease. Pushing the shirt tails up and out of the way, he pulled down the absurdly expensive boxers to meet the equally overpriced slacks. Without a word, he snaked a firm hand around Neal's waist and tugged him tightly to his torso. He wasn't a man to tolerate squirming and the CI knew better than to even try with any great gusto.

"If I ever have to do this again for the same sort of reason, you're not the only whose belt is coming off. Is that clear?"

Gulping, Neal nodded and resolved as he always did, to never warrant this sort of correction again.

But it never seemed to work out that way for him.

Biting his lip so hard that the rusty tinge of blood squirted onto his tongue, Peter braced himself. Knowing that to overthink it would make things harder for the both of them, he raised his arm high and the first crackling swat landed with a trend-setting gusto. Neal's eyes fluttered shut as he clamped down on the familiar hiss of pain that the first smack always elicited. This was going to a tough one, and he needed to remain as stoic as he could, for as long as he could. Within thirty seconds, the chastisement was well under way. The otherwise silent room was aloud with brisk swats, a fast paced and alternating target system in operation. The milky skin that was destined to receive all of Neal's corrections pinked up immediately under Peter's unyielding hand. He kept his mouth shut as the spanking unfolded, knowing that to scold was superfluous.

Satchmo sat in the kitchen with his head in his paws, saddened for the visitor.

As the biting pain peaked from a sting to a burn, Neal gritted his teeth. His fringe flopped into his eyes as his backside reddened another shade with every passing second. He could never really imagine Peter as the professional baseball player until he was over his knee. Only then could he see where his swing would have been valued. His wide, unyielding and horrendously powerful swing. As that very swing came into brisk contact with his well-presented sit spots, the first yowl of pain escaped him. There was no stopping it. As the second volley of swats cascaded upon the sensitive skin, the first pooling of tears sprang up in his eyes. He didn't know how Peter's hands could be so impossibly hard, it wasn't as if he were in construction. Inexplicably hardened though they were, they were also very deft and covered every inch of his upturned and bared behind with little to no mercy.

Peter had dished out many a spanking to his incorrigible CI, but this one was definitely noteworthy.

He was determined to teach the kid a lesson.

Before he was far too dead and buried to be taught anything.

The backside over his knee was now a fiery crimson and seemed to crackle with heat as he snapped his hand down across it again and again. If El were here, she would no doubt disapprove of his thoroughness. But he couldn't take any more chances with the impulsive Neal. He needed to be reined in and he needed stability. He had to deliver what he said he would, even if he'd rather be delivering that ridiculously expensive coffee the kid drank and the gluten free croissant. With his own hand beginning to burn, he refocused on the already well reddened sit spots, ensuring a lasting lesson would be imparted. As a particularly stinging swat crashed down, the kid let go. Feeling the torso deflate over his knee and hearing the quiet sobbing breaking free, Peter closed his eyes in relief.

They were done.

With a perfunctory smattering of cool down swats, his arm finally stilled.

It was over.

He let Neal cry himself out, rubbing gentle circles on the small of his clammy back. He murmured softly to him, words of reassurance uttered just loud enough to be heard over the strains of his sniffling and snuffling. Several minutes passed before Neal comported himself enough to realise his vulnerable position. Scampering stiffly off Peter's knee, who tactfully looked away to allow the privacy needed to right the clothing situation, Neal hissed as the soft cotton made contact. Standing, Peter uttered not a word as he reached out and pulled the red eyed boy into his arms. The hot head was rested on his shoulder as Neal leant against him, thoroughly chastised and exhausted to boot. Muttering quietly into his ear, Peter eventually released him with a gentle ruffle of his tousled hair and a soft smile.

"M'sorry."

The soft, short and sincere apology filled Peter with more pride than sonnet of regret ever would.

"I know, bud, I know. It's water under the bridge now. It's forgiven and forgotten. Ok?"

Neal nodded, sleep growing in his eyes with every passing second.

Before Peter could offer any other word of comfort, the front door suddenly burst open and El barrelled through with determination painted upon her face. Seeing that the punishment was over, she breathed a sigh of relief. Effectively ignoring her long-suffering husband she raced forwards and seized Neal around the neck and pulled him tight. Rolling his eyes, Peter stepped back with a muttered "I spanked him, I didn't kill his pet dog for crying out loud," but smiled softy at the interaction. Releasing him with a quick once over, El gazed sympathetically at the red-faced Neal.

"Oh, sweetie. Don't ever do this to us again, ok?"

Peter stared, stony faced.

 _Us?_

El was having tea and biscuits when _he_ had to take Neal to task.

Neal nodded repentantly as he was pulled into another tight hug, before being stiffly frog marched into the kitchen for some well needed food. Sighing as he was essentially forgotten, Peter meandered in after the two of them a few minutes later, after straightening up the living room. Maybe they might throw him some scraps if they remembered he was there. Pushing open the swinging door he instantly became suspicious at the covert conversation that was taking place over steaming dishes. Looking up , El patted Neal's shoulder and turned a glowering gaze on her husband, speaking in a deathly tone of danger.

"Did you threaten him with a _belt,_ Peter Burke?"

The Agent quickly glanced at Neal, who was standing and smirking behind his wife's back.

"Well...I mean, I guess you could say….El, you-"

" _Did_ you _threaten_ him with a _belt,_ yes or no?"

Glowering heavily at the now silently laughing Neal, Peter dropped his gaze to the floor as his wife set about laying into him with gusto. Only escaping the tongue lashing because the phone saved his life, shrilling in the living room, he breathed a sigh of relief when she paused the lambasting to answer it. Left alone with his maddening charge, he fixed him with a glare that would sour milk. Crossing the room in two strides, he took the kid by the arm and swatted him three times across the behind with minimal force, but still hard enough to draw a squawk. Releasing him, he sighed when the grin was back in place that told him that landing him in it had been worth it.

He didn't hear the door open behind him as he opened his mouth.

"You little-"

El snapped the tea towel down on the counter behind him and Neal's grin stretched even wider.

"Peter Burke! Did I just hear you spank that poor boy? _Again?"_

The cause of all the consternation sniggered under his breath as Peter whispered a threat under his own, before turning reluctantly to once again to face the wrath of his wife.

"When she leaves….your ass is mine. You absolute brat."

….

FIN: I *may* have forgotten about this story! My apologies.

Inks x

….


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